


A Declaration Letter

by Selenese



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenese/pseuds/Selenese
Summary: The words were splashed countless times across the pages. Blots of ink dotted the margins, and there were dark marks from where she had scribbled out the words "tyrant" and "redcoat." The colony's normally elegant handwriting had been reduced to unintelligible chicken scratch as she had obsessively written the words over and over again. Revolutionary War Fic. Empire!UK X Fem!US
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Whenever she was alone she liked to write.

It was a way to release her demons, and to express herself in the only way she knew how.

Or in the only way she was allowed to that is.

Amelia Kirkland, (though she preferred the surname "Jones.") the personification of the thirteen British colonies of America. It was a long name, so she decided just "America" would suffice.

She was the land that the empires of Europe spilled blood over, the wild new world that made the kings of far off lands salivate with greed, all too eager to pillage her uncharted lands in search for wealth.

America.

America the beautiful is what they called her.

Beautiful? She had never considered herself as such, despite the many compliments thrown at her left and right.

"Stunning," they would call, "Absolutely gorgeous!"

Her hair; long and wild, cascaded down her back in honey blonde ringlets, stopping just above her waist. Her eyes were the purest of blue, rivaling even the spacious skies overhead.

"God bless America!" her people would say when they saw her, and she would smile, pearly white teeth gleaming as her countrymen would stop and stare to admire her.

You weren't supposed to get attached to your people- at least, that's what England had taught her.

"They may be your people, but you must never forget that they are human," the empire had told her, carelessly crossing one leg over the other. "Humans are vile creatures," he murmured, his accented voice like smooth velvet to her ears. "Humans can put atrocious ideas into your head, love." His sharp green orbs suddenly flickered upwards in suspicion, startling her for a moment. "What would make you want to discuss such a thing anyway?"

It was as if their meeting in that field all those years ago had been destined. So many others had tried to fully conquer the Americas, and then all of a sudden, there was him.

He had frightened her at first, the way he had so plainly stated that she would be a colony of the British Empire and that she would be his little sister. But that fear had turned to pity as she watched him be bested by his cunning French rival. America wouldn't forget the look on his face when she had reached out to him and accepted him as her guardian; the way his thick eyebrows shot up in surprise, the way he snatched her tiny form into his arms and kissed the top of her head and said, "Let's go home."

The memory seemed bittersweet now, for now America sat, locked away in her room by the very man that promised to protect and care for her.

Revolution

Independence

The words were splashed countless times across the pages. Blots of ink dotted the margins, and there were dark marks from where she had scribbled out the words "tyrant" and "redcoat." The colony's normally elegant handwriting had been reduced to unintelligible chicken scratch as she had obsessively written the words over and over and over again.

"Stay inside, Amelia."

The order had stopped her in her tracks, her arm stilling as it had reached for the door.

"Why?"

There was no snow on the ground, no foreign invaders on her doorstep, and certainly no threats to her from any of her people. So why? Why couldn't she be free to go where she pleased on her own lands?

"Because I said so."

There he sat, legs crossed in one of those large lavish chairs of importance, the very ones that repulsed her so. He was not looking at her, but instead had his nose buried in a book.

"But why?" she tried again, her hands now fiddling with the seams of the expensive dress she wore. She absolutely hated dresses, and often preferred to go about in a loose-fitting pair of trousers instead. That, however, was immediately stopped by England as well after he had explained that young ladies such as herself needed to look presentable.

Pompous Ass.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head a fraction towards her, as if bored.

"Stay inside, America."

The girl flinched when her formal name was used, her head dipping submissively in a bow before she headed back upstairs, straight to her room, and shut the door behind her.

And that night, she had escaped by out the window.

Her countrymen, (the very ones that Arthur despised) were more than delighted to see her.

"Greetings, America! We don't often get to see you."

The blonde smiled, a genuine one, not the artificial smiles she wore around England and his delegates.

"I'm glad to be out. It's a beautiful night."

The man, one of her older citizens adjusted the fancy hat he wore atop his head and nodded.

"The other colonies,' he began, his eyes flickering from his left to his right, "There have been signs of unrest. Many are losing their patience with the monarchy, milady."

America sighed. She had felt them- the loyalist and the rebels fighting over the rising tea taxes bestowed upon her by England himself.

"Please know that I am with you." She could not say much, with the risk of one of Arthur's soldiers overhearing.

The man smiled, his eyes shown with a fierce determination and he grasped her hand in his own.

"And please know that we, your people, are always with you, America."

And with that, they parted ways, but the brief meeting was enough to make America fall to her knees. She could feel the rebels, she could feel her peoples' loyalty and love, and It overwhelmed the young colony and made her eyes well up with tears.

And it was at that moment when America realized that she was not just fighting for her own freedom, but for the freedom of her people as well.


	2. Chapter 2

"I take it that you enjoyed yourself."

Amelia gasped and spun around to face the newcomer, a feeling of dread washing over her.

The Empire stared down at her from his horse, his eyes seeming to glow in the moon's pale light.

"H-how-"

"I went to your room to check on you," he said, brows furrowed and back straight, not a single hair out of place. "Only to discover that you were no where to be found."

The American bit her lip, fists shaking.

"Not to worry though. I've seen to it that you won't be pulling such a stunt again."

How dare he!? How dare he speak as if he owned her? As if she needed his permission to even lift a finger?

"I needed some time alone," she winched at the look he gave her, "Away from the house." she added.

"I specifically told you to stay inside, Amelia." Arthur said, pinching the bridge of his nose, pure frustration evident on his face,

Amelia stared down at her feet, her emotions ranging fervently from anger to annoyance and finally to complete embarrassment. Why was she embarrassed she wondered? Hadn't she wanted to do this? To escape if only for a brief moment? She supposed that it was because she still admired the Empire, still looked up to and respected him in a way. To have someone that you loved and esteemed so much look at you with such disappointment in their eyes hurt and left a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Get on."

His words were clipped and short and America wondered if she had truly angered the Big Bad British Empire. Though a part of her felt ashamed, another felt thrilled to know that she had managed to get under the older nation's skin.

The younger nation pulled herself onto the stallion, doing her very best to avoid touching Arthur despite the close proximity.

The ride home was tense and awkward. Despite her best efforts to not touch the Briton, Amelia found herself pressed closely against him, her arms wrapped around his front.

The white stallion snorted, it's long head bobbing rhythmically as they made their way along the path toward home.

-o-

"I don't know why you are being so childish," Arthur said when they had made they're way through the door. "This whole little rebellion of yours, you are declaring war on me by doing this." The Empire, once again, had returned to sit in his chair as he regarded America coldly.

God she hated that fucking chair.

"I don't have time for one of your little games, Amelia."

Games? Is that what he thought this was? Just a game? Her fight for freedom wasn't important to him? Not worth his time?

"Do you even care about me?" The question hung in the air, heavy and thick with tension at the sudden exclamation.

The Empire's gaze softened, a gentle chuckle escaping from the normally stoic man.

"Is that what this is all about?" he asked, his tone was tender, sympathetic even. "Of course I care about you, America, you are my colony."

A colony. A colony of Britain.

It made her sick to be referred to as simply a colony. Another collection of land underneath the British crown.

Is that all you see me as, Arthur?

The sudden feel of hands cupping her face threw the young woman from her reverie. A pale thumb caressed her check, brushing away a stray tear that had been making its way down her face.

"Don't cry, love." he murmured, and there was something very manipulative about the way he pulled her into his arms, carefully placing a kiss on top of her head.

The blonde began to sob grossly, frustrated tears escaping as she buried her face into his neck like she did as a child.

She could feel them, the clashing views of her people. She could feel them, the loyalists and the rebels, arguing and fighting amongst one another. America had never felt so hopelessly confused, and a part of her still believed Britain could make it better, even though it was he who was causing the problem.

"You must be hungry," England was never good with these kind of things. He patted her on the back awkwardly. "I'll prepare you something." The Empire then released her and went off into the kitchen to prepare her "food."

Amelia groaned in despair. If the war didn't kill her, then Arthur's cooking sure would.

The colony regained her composure and headed upstairs to her room. She had been spending a lot of time there recently since Arthur had placed her under house arrest. Though to be honest, it wasn't so bad...The alone time had hardened her, matured her in a way, and had given her some time to think. For countless hours the girl had sat, grasping a feathered ink pen in trembling fingers. She had spilled all of her thoughts and ideas onto the pages, every little thing that had ever crossed her mind during her time in confinement.

It would seem as though the girl had been writing a journal, a feminine diary of some sort. No; instead she was working on something far more sophisticated.

War plans.

Strategies and tactics and diagrams and charts. She had been studying her guardian, obsessively taking note of his every weakness and action.

Perhaps they both watched each other a little too much. They both seemed to regard one another as threats now, a formerly healthy relationship of guardian and charge replaced with that of two bitter enemies living in the same household.

America had been keeping an eye on his troops as well, watching how the soldiers trained and communicated with one another.

She had felt guilty at first, but after "the incident"* as Arthur had called it, those feelings for The Empire had drastically changed.

"I'm going out, England!"

Arthur smiled fondly at his charge, and reached over to give her an affectionate pat on the head.

"Don't stay out too late, Amelia."

"Mhm!" The American nodded and raced giddily down the path, fingers clutching the ends of her dress as not to trip. Her legs carried her into the woods beyond the home her and The Empire shared and the blonde breathed a sigh of relief.

"Fresh air!" she shouted happily, falling backwards so she lay sprawled out against the grass. She tilted her head back and stared up at the trees overhead, no longer caring about the state of the expensive dress. She supposed she'd just have to listen to Arthur complain about it later.

A sudden flash of white caught the colony's attention, and she turned her head, crystal blue orbs flicking left and right.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

It was dangerous for a young woman to be out by herself, this was one of the reasons why Britain guarded her so fiercely.

Stepping hesitantly out of the brush came a fluffy white rabbit, it's nose twitching curiously. America gave a brilliant smile and slowly reached out to the furry creature, careful not to startle it. To her surprise however, the rabbit leaped right into her awaiting arms, all too eager to bury it's little head into her bosom.

The American squealed with delight and settled down into the grass once more, using her fingers to gently stroke the animal's head.

"You could tell I was upset, huh?"

The bunny stared up at her with large black eyes, and it's ears twitched once as if to say "Yes, and you cry quite loudly as well."

America laughed. It was a funny thing, how a country's land, it's people, and it's animals were connected so strongly.

And it was that connection that caused America to suddenly double over in agony.

The colony gasped for air, her hands clawing at her throat, desperately trying to inhale oxygen into her tightening lungs. The rabbit's eyes widened in fright, but he pressed himself closer to her.

America gasped and set the worried animal down, anger beginning to fill her being.

"G-God," she gasped.

Something was happening. Something was happening in the colonies.

America broke into a run, her heart thudding widely in her chest. The shoes she had been wearing had long since been discarded, leaving her feet bloodied and bruised as they scrapped against the pavement.

When she arrived, the city of Boston was in disarray. Thick smoke hung In the air, and the smell of gunpowder burned her nostrils. Her head throbbed painfully as she took in the chaos around her.

British soldiers stood over the dead bodies of her people, some wore faces of shock, others ones of triumph. Nausea washed over America as her remaining citizens ran over to steady her.

"Those fucking lobsters* shot into the crowd!" a man exclaimed. His face was covered with splatters of crimson.

Pools of red surrounded the bodies of the dead and the other colonists scurried away from the carnage.

"I want those bastards outta here!" yelled another man.

Blood. So much blood.

"Bloody fucking redcoats!" shouted some more.

Black dots spotted the colony's vision, her fingers began to shake and her mind began to fade.

The faint sound of someone calling her name was all she heard before she fainted into oblivion.

America frowned at the memory, blue eyes narrowing as she scribbled something else onto her notes before reaching for a clean page.

The Boston Massacre; or as the British called it, "The Incident"* , had been the turning point in America's war for independence. It had angered and installed hatred in her people.

Arthur had been the one to bring her home after she fainted, and when she regained consciousness she had shouted at him. She screamed and kicked and broke things and threw the biggest tantrum she had ever thrown. Arthur had apologized and he'd truly seemed sincere, but it didn't matter. At the time, her people were dead and there was nothing her could do to change that.

Arthur had had a word with his soldiers after the massacre and had concluded that his men had been provoked.

"The colonists had surrounded them," he had told her "My soldiers were simply defending themselves."

The pen snapped.

America watched the onyx liquid drip down her fingers for a moment before reaching for a handkerchief. The young colony cleaned her hands before gathering up her work and making her way over to the window.

The girl gasped in horror, papers scattering onto the floor.

The windows had been nailed shut with two thick boards attached to either side of the panels.

"Not to worry though. I've seen to it that you won't be pulling such a stunt again."

The sound of footsteps making their way to her room pulled Amelia from her disturbed state, and she quickly scrambled to collect the fallen documents.

The doorknob turned just as she was shoving them underneath her bed.

"I thought you'd like to know," Arthur said upon entering, raising an eyebrow at Amelia, who sat sprawled out in the middle of her bedroom floor, hair disheveled and breathing heavily.

"That your tea is ready." he continued. "I've also prepared some finger sandwiches as well."

"Right." America quickly rose to her feet and patted down her dress, smiling as if nothing were wrong. "Sounds delicious, Arthur."

The Empire's eyes widened minisculey, obviously taken off guard but pleasantly surprised by his colony's compliment.

"Ahem, yes, well. Come now then."

America let The Empire led her to the dining room where sure enough, at the table, Arthur's creations were waiting for her.

Sliced chicken with cheese, lettuce and tomato sat on burned (toasted if you asked Arthur) rye bread.

It looked decent enough.

The pair sat across from each other and ate their meal in silence. Great Britain would nibble on his sandwich for a moment before taking a small sip of tea, back straight, posture stiff and elbows not touching the table. The way he ate annoyed her. It was just the two of them. Alone. In the States. It wasn't like the King was there watching their every movement.

"Are you not hungry?"

America jumped, startled, and met his gaze, mouth opening to stutter dumbly,

"Wha?"

The Empire was holding his cup to his lips and motioned with it to her plate, his expression bored.

"Your meal. You haven't so much as touched it yet. This is unlike you."

Amelia glanced down at the fine China which held five small perfectly cut sandwiches.

"Oh. Yeah."

Emerald green eyes narrowed at her tone, but the Empire said nothing. He instead watched his colony, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her messy hair, the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"I take it you haven't been sleeping well either."

Amelia lowered her head, fists clenched, jaw tight.

"I've been stressed."

"Oh?"

"Yes." she spat. "There is growing unrest in the colonies. I can feel it. My people are getting," she paused, looking for the right word. "Annoyed."

Arthur rolled his eyes and frowned.

"Annoyed? Annoyed you say? Well, I am quite annoyed myself. I'm annoyed that my colony deliberately disobeyed me, sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night and is trying to partake In some- what did you call it? Fight for independence? For freedom?"

The Empire's lips were pursed in distaste at the word and his toxic green eyes burrowed holes into her skin.

"I find that very annoying. You don't need freedom America, you need discipline."

And that was the last straw. She lunged from her seat and threw her cup of tea right at The Empire's face.


End file.
